


I Give You My Blank Heart (Please Draw On It)

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Lehnsherr is Crushing Harder Than a 12-Year-Old Girl, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nude Modeling, Pre-Relationship, Tetraplegic Charles Xavier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: To polish up his college budget, Charles nude-models for one of Raven Adler-Darkhölme's art classes. Tired from a long week's work, he falls off his chair - and straight into love with a gorgeous art student.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 21
Kudos: 77
Collections: X-Men X-Traordinaire's Cherik Valentine's Day Exchange





	I Give You My Blank Heart (Please Draw On It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/gifts).



> Title from Li-Young Lee's poem _[I Loved You Before I Was Born](https://poets.org/poem/i-loved-you-i-was-born)_ (with a little modification), and this [Tumblr post](https://spell-cleaver.tumblr.com/post/639358759079215104/thenightingalelily-whitebear-ofthe-watertribe) served as basis for this AU.  
> Many thanks to the lovely [LavenderLotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion) for the beta!

“Alright, class, time is running!” Mrs Adler-Darkhölme clapped her hands and stepped out of the half-circle of canvas stands surrounding Charles on his chair. “You have fifteen minutes for a rough sketch of our model here. Your medium is charcoal on paper, and remember: I want to see no smudging.”

Charles blinked into the darkness beyond the glaring spotlights trained on him. He could barely make out the students’ faces – only the white of an eye here and there, or the dark slant of a mouth pursed in concentration. And yet, looking through his mind’s eye, he felt the feeling of being everyone’s sole focus wash over him like the warm winter sun.

Sighing quietly, he relaxed back into the padded chair – not that he could actually feel if it was comfortable or not, but Mrs Adler-Darkhölme had assured him she would never let him get pressure sores under her care. Of all the mini-jobs Charles could have picked to polish up his bursary, modelling for her art students had probably been the luckiest choice of all. All he had to do was sit still for stretches of fifteen minutes, letting them sketch his numb body in the nude without ever saying a word.

The teacher’s lecture theatre was even better heated than his dorm.

The scratching of charcoal on paper took up from behind the canvas stands, an agreeably ASMR mix when paired with the warmth of the space heater right next to Charles and the frantic thoughts of the future artists, designers, architects and engineers all around him. Charles, too, let his mind wander. Next month's physics exam hung heavy in his belly. It was a promise of many sleepless nights spent mulling over the lecture slides and past exercises while Armando desperately begged for him to go to bed, for both their health’s sake, and Charles just _had_ to refuse, or else he would fail and all he had fought for would have been for nothing.

_Collarbones so prominent- Bone structure, tendons, muscle strings- Maybe I should have gone for medicine after all-_

Charles swallowed lightly. No, he could do this. Dr MacTaggert had believed he could do this, had believed in him when she had recommended him for this scholarship, and she had cried with him when they had gotten the notice that he would be able to attend college – opening the path to higher studies, unbarring the door that had fallen closed when he had cut ties with his family and their fortune. He would not disappoint her, and, most importantly, he would not let himself down.

Not now that he had come so far.

_Interesting shadow right below his nose- Have to get this right or his mouth will look too voluminous-_

Someone sneezed. There fluttered a few “Bless you”s out of the darkness, and moving his mouth as little as possible, Charles joined in. From the darkness came the soothing rhythm of Mrs Adler-Darkhölme’s heels on the linoleum floor, ceasing every now and then when she bent over someone’s shoulder and corrected them on their sketch.

Charles’ eyelids were growing heavy. He’d ingested a few too many non-decaf coffees during midday, with Armando almost suffering a stroke, but the caffeine was beginning to wear off now. Last night’s research binge for his genetics project was starting to take its toll, and Charles fought to keep his mind on track.

Sit still. Not difficult when you’ve been paralysed from the neck down since you were fifteen. Keep the simple pose. All he had to do was fold his hands in his lap with the mobility he had regained in rehabilitation. Look for all the world like a porcelain doll.

His mother had always told him that this was all he was good for after all.

The memory shook him awake again, just barely, but enough to latch onto the bright burn of minds toiling away all around him. Some were as sleepy as he was, grey shadows of darkly coiling thoughts; some burned searingly, bright and awake. Rifling through them like through file cards, Charles’ attention snatched on one that had chosen to focus on his face.

_The V of the lips below his nose- Such a nice study- Hopefully he’ll come back and pose for us again-_

Charles did his best not to smile. Mrs Adler-Darkhölme did indeed pay well for so little labour, and the student might just be in luck.

Tomorrow, he’d buy the biology textbook he so desperately needed with this evening’s pay. And after tomorrow was another day, a Monday, and then another day, and another, and another. The endless grey of winter stretched out in front of Charles like the sea, bland and boring and cold.

Beyond the light, there was only the dark and the quiet whispers of the students’ minds.

_So tired-_

_Have to lift my hand higher or I’ll smudge the fingers-_

_Should have taken the morning class-_

Just for one second, Charles closed his burning eyes. All he wanted was to give them a little rest-

The next thing he knew, he was lying sideways on the floor next to his chair, the linoleum of the floor freezing against his cheek. Confused, he blinked up at one of the art students staring at him open-mouthed from behind her canvas stand.

Then, chaos broke loose. One after the other, the hatchling artists jumped up from their seats to cluster in a circle around Charles, gasping and wringing their hands and their mind shouting out their panic as they asked if he was okay. Stupefied by the onslaught of their worry, all Charles could do was nod along and mutter repeatedly, “No, it’s good, I’m fine.”

_He’s naked- Can’t just touch this-_

Charles frowned. Whoever had thought this, they had a point.

_Please don’t get sick please-_

Charles groaned and quite ineffectively tried to push himself into a sitting position with his clumsy arms. “It’s okay, I just fell asleep-”

_Oh my gosh this is so awkward-_

Oh yes, it was. Charles could already feel a full-body flush starting on his cheeks and down his neck as the gaggle of art students stood awkwardly and fiddled with their thumbs, their eyes everywhere but on his nude form.

“I- Okay, one moment.” Finally, a tall, white-haired guy quickly stepped around Charles’ legs, getting to work at the brightly lit backdrop behind him. The thin linen sheet rustled as it was draped over Charles’ body and tucked in around his neck, and then, the student knelt by his side and squeezed his shoulders in a warm, strong grip. “And you’re sure you’re okay? You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

Oh, that subtle accent was something to be savoured. Charles looked up into the guy’s pale multi-hued eyes and tried a tentative smile. “I’m quite alright, I promise. But thank you.”

The man smiled back shyly – and blushed. Just lightly, but the lovely bloom of colour across his sharp cheekbones was unmistakable, as was the rosy shade suddenly filtering through his surface thoughts.

Charles knew he was staring now. But the stranger’s immaculate physique _did_ deserve an appreciative once-over.

The moment was broken when Mrs Adler-Darkhölme elbowed her way through the throng of gaping students and sank to her knees at Charles’ side.

“Oh my-” she gasped, blotches of darker blue blooming on her indigo cheeks, “what happened?”

With a last flickering smile, the white-haired art student gave Charles a nod before he got up. The tip of his finger brushed Charles’ jaw, setting his nerve endings alight in a heady mix of emotions.

“I think I fell asleep,” Charles muttered, though he had a hard time keeping his eyes from tracking his helper’s retreat. Those hips under his too-tight jeans had to be-

“Charles?” The art teacher frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re-?”

“Yes, thank you.” The smile he shot her this time was maybe a bit strained, maybe a tad bit unnerved, but his object of contemplation had retreated into the twilight behind the glare of the overhead lamps, anyway. “Do you think you could put me back in the chair?”

“Do _you_ think it’s a smart move to continue?” Mrs Adler-Darkhölme’s eyes were resting on him, worried and earnest. “We don’t have to, you know.”

Grunting, Charles hoisted himself as far upright as he was able to, gratefully relaxing into the teacher’s grasp when she got the hint and finally picked him up like he weighed nothing, her biceps bulging under her woolly sweater. With deft hands, she helped him back into his seat and arranged his pose.

Charles nodded his thanks. “If you could get your students to talk to me and keep me awake, I’d appreciate that very much. But I think I’ll just make it to the end of the session.”

“Well, we have a deal.” She gave him one last assessing look, before she turned and clapped her hands, shooing her students back to their places. “Alright, class, break is over! You still have a few minutes, then we’ll swap places, so everyone gets a different angle. And remember – keep talking to Mr Xavier, or he’ll fall off his chair again.”

There were a few sparse giggles, then the creaking of metal on metal as Mrs Adler-Darkhölme hung the cloth for the backdrop up again.

Charles took a deep breath and gazed into the stirring darkness in front of him, waiting for the students to start talking.

The first one to speak up was a young, lanky man with a shock of red hair, peering out from behind his canvas stand. “Uh, so, what do you study?”

Charles gave a hesitant smile. “Genetics. I’m currently working on my Master's. And you?”

There came some low appreciative murmurs from the dark, and the student whistled. “Wow, not bad. Thought you’d still be on your Bachelor; you look so young.” He shot Charles a lop-sided grin. “I’m not actually studying here – the lassie whose boxwood hedge I cut recommended it to me.”

“Oh.” Charles frowned. “So if this course is open to everyone…”

A dark, petite girl sniggered, her delicate dragonfly wings iridescent in the darkness behind her as they fluttered lightly. “Don’t worry, we won’t go around telling everyone about That One Model Who Fell Off The Chair.”

The sniggers returned, more numerous this time. From somewhere to Charles’ left, a gruff voice mumbled, “You better not, or you’ll have a word with me.”

“Hey, Lehnsherr.” The ginger student took his eyes off Charles and glanced into the darkness. “Finally making friends, are we?”

“Fuck off, Cassidy.”

To anyone who wasn’t telepathic, the retort would have sounded brusque, abrasive even. Charles, however, had no difficulty at all discerning anger from fond resignation.

Choosing to say nothing, he just smiled to himself and let the entailing conversation wash over him.

The art students were a wildly cobbled together bunch, it turned out. They came from all over town, some not even enrolled at the university but just in search of a new pastime. Others had signed up for this class to gather stray credit points, get their heads out of their overly intellectual study fields or acquire the skills they wouldn’t have the motivation for in their free time.

Angel for example, the girl with the dragonfly wings, had dropped out of university when she had found a lucrative job at the Frost branch of Hellfire Trading Company, but had kept the art course. Lehnsherr – _Erik_ Lehnsherr, whose name Charles had a hard time not saying out loud like it was a sweet thing melting on his tongue – on the other hand, had enrolled in engineering, worked in the Jewish grocery store around the corner on weekends and had gently but firmly been pressured into taking up his old drawing habit by his mother.

Charles silently thanked whatever deity was up there for giving Mama Lehnsherr such a persevering streak. She could not have sent a more welcome, if slightly nagging angel to keep him from nodding off again.

“So you’re saying,” Charles re-iterated once more, doing his best not to move his mouth too much when Mrs Adler-Darkhölme shot him a disapproving look, “that we should approve of a certain quota of visibly mutated individuals in positions of power, such as politics and economics? But isn’t there a reason that mutants with outstanding mutations just aren’t qualified for such positions?”

The lightly accented voice to his left pushed an exasperated sigh. Gosh, Charles could listen to its gravelly intonations all day.

“See, you just proved my point. Institutional racism – it’s why we don’t have more visibly mutated representatives in high positions of power. They get discriminated against from the very first day they manifest their gift, in school, at college, at work…” There followed a muffled curse in German and then some furious scribbling of charcoal on paper before Erik took up again, “Your bias, which basically everyone shares, keeps them from reaching their full potential. And as the feminists say: real equality is only then achieved when a truly incompetent woman has reached the same status as a truly incompetent man. And the same goes for mutants and humans.”

Hums of assent came from all around Charles, and in the twilight behind the canvas stands, he could see Angel nodding as she gingerly shaded something on her sketch.

He pouted. Then, he nodded. “That _is_ a very good point.”

This time, there was a smile in Erik’s voice when he chuckled and answered quietly, “You’re welcome.”

Charles blinked once more into the glare of the overhead lights, desperately willing his eyes to bore through the darkness and put a face to Erik’s voice. This was the most awake he had felt since the arrival of the cold, bland, utterly drab winter, and somehow, this particular art student had a whole lot to do with it.

He was just working up the courage to ask Erik to go for coffee someday, well knowing he was taking the risk of being publicly rejected in front of the whole art class, when the art teacher stepped into the half-circle of easels and started to dim the lights.

“Alright, darlings,” she said, “we’re finished for today. Excellent work, everyone, and I’m looking forward to seeing you again next week. Class dismissed!”

Her words were immediately followed by a cacophony of chairs being pushed back over the linoleum floor and the creaks and groans of canvas stands cleared away, and barely ten seconds later, the door opened and the first students started filing out of the room.

Charles swallowed, desperately scouring the twilight for a friendly face. There were a few waving their goodbyes, smiling at him and wishing him a good weekend, but even as he nodded his thanks, he knew they weren’t who he was looking for. The tall, white-haired student who had covered him with the sheet from the backdrop was keeping his head down, busy packing up his stuff as his mind already roiled with the thought of getting home as fast as possible, though just a smidge of regret was tinting his thoughts a bitter yellow.

Charles frowned, opening his mouth to call out for him- and let out a slightly undignified yelp instead when a heavy hand landed on his left shoulder.

He looked up and straight into Armando’s warm brown eyes, their corners crinkled amiably. Despite himself, he felt his irritation at being interrupted dissipate instantly.

“Hi there,” Armando said, already bending down to begin the long process of getting Charles back into his clothes. “Had a nice session?”

“The best so far, if I dare say that,” Charles answered, catching the wink Mrs Adler-Darkhölme threw him from where she was seeing off the last of her students across the room. Searching still, he craned his neck, but the white-haired student from before had vanished, and none of the remaining people seemed to fit the image he had already formed in his head about Erik. “And you? How did your date with Alex go?”

Armando nudged him forward by the shoulder, then started to pull the sleeves of Charles’ shirt over Charles’ bird-thin wrists, followed by his thick cardigan and almost threadbare wool coat. “Phenomenally. Did you know he reads poetry when no one’s looking? And he showed me pics of his younger brother, Scott – sweet child, apparently wants to meet me because he’s already heard so much about me.”

“Sounds like you two are just about ready to move in with each other.” Grinning, Charles slung an arm over Armando’s shoulder and let himself be lifted into his electric wheelchair.

The twinkle in Armando’s eyes told him that he had just about hit the mark. “Jealous, Xavier?”

“Barely. You’re still stuck with me 24/7 until I find someone to replace you – not that anyone will ever get close to your skill, but you get my point.”

Huffing, Armando tucked in the blanket around Charles’ legs. “Flatterer.” Then, he straightened up and nodded, evidently pleased with his handiwork. “Alright, we’re ready to go. Wanna say goodbye to anyone?”

Mrs Adler-Darkhölme waved from across the room, then bent back behind her desk to rummage through a few drawers. Obviously, Charles was just as dismissed as the rest of class. “Not really.”

He bit back a sigh as he nudged at his joystick and manoeuvred out of the door onto the corridor, Armando hot on his metaphorical heels. To both sides, the hallways lay empty and deserted in the low gloom of the neon lights – not a trace of a certain tall, narrow-waisted stranger or someone who looked like a person with a tenacious streak named Erik.

With one last pat on his shoulder, Armando started for the door to the street. “Let’s get you home then, shall we?”

Outside, in the intercepting pools of light pouring out of the street lanterns, a bunch of students hurried by, bundled up tightly against the cold. Charles could already feel the bite of winter on his cheeks, almost acidic in its burning nature – did Erik feel it too?

Apparently, the answer would have to wait. Maybe, against all hopes, forever.

Charles nodded. “Yes. Home.”

The college campus was choking beneath a thick flurry of snowflakes, and Metallica’s _Nothing Else Matters_ hammered through Erik’s in-ear headphones straight through his brain as he hurried across the vast central concrete plaza back to his dorm. It was a not-so-fine Sunday morning, and there was a headache building behind his temples, one caused by an excess of studying and the bad instant coffee from the vending machine at the library – okay, and maybe his lack of sleep. His fingers were freezing and hurting, desperately clinging to his notes where they were shoved into a derelict folder and in danger of slipping out any moment now.

In short, Erik was very much distraught, distracted, distressed, and far too gone for his brain to immediately register the familiar features he had just passed. When he did, he came to a halt so abruptly it made his head spin. His shoes slid and almost slipped on the concrete as he spun around on his heels and sprinted after the object of his attention.

“Wait!”

He would recognise the slope of those lips anywhere. And those sky-blue eyes, and that slightly over-large nose, even the jut of that jaw – he had been mulling over them for hours, bent over his sketchpad as he desperately tried to recall the smallest detail of the man’s face.

The student in the wheelchair and the woman walking by his side stopped and watched him make his way over to them. Panting against the cold and stuffing his headphones into his pocket, Erik soldiered on through the onslaught of the snowstorm and finally came to a standstill in front of the blue-eyed, auburn-haired boy he had set his sights on.

Before he could open his mouth to explain the unexpected ambush, a smile lit up the student’s face. In his ridiculously British accent, he chirped, “Oh, I know you! You’re not by any chance Erik from art class?”

For a few undignified seconds, Erik gaped. Then, he gasped, “You remember me?”

“Why, of course, I do.” The boy chuckled and shook his head like he couldn’t believe Erik would doubt him. He was all bundled up in a large coat and a thick blanket, wearing a woolly beanie of an absolutely atrocious shade of orange over his unruly locks. Erik thought it made him look unfairly endearing, and he cursed his treacherous heart for giving a little excited leap at the sight. “In fact, I’m surprised _you_ recognised _me_ at all.”

“I almost didn’t,” Erik blurted out before he could stop himself. “I mean, I’ve never seen you with clothes on before-”

The doe-eyed woman by the student’s side had been silent so far, but now, she gave a scandalised gasp. “ _Charles!_ ”

Erik blanched. The nude model – _Charles,_ right, Charles Xavier – blushed.

“Now, it’s really not what you think, Dr MacTaggert,” he hurried to say, shooting Erik a look that virtually screamed for help. “I’m _not_ morphing into the university bicycle, if that’s what you’re getting at-”

-there, Erik just so bit his tongue to keep himself from muttering a dejected, “Sadly-”

“- I’ve just been nude-modelling for one of Mrs Adler-Darkhölme’s classes, so I could pay for some textbooks. Haven’t I, Erik?” With wide, pleading eyes, Charles blinked up at Erik and raised his eyebrows.

Erik nodded fervently. “Yes, exactly. We met there three weeks ago or so, I think?”

The grateful smile Charles sent him suddenly made him forget the cold wind and the wet snowstorm and all the headaches he had ever had in the world. “Yes, we did. In fact, I was wondering why you haven't shown up since.”

Erik swallowed down a biting remark about time and sick sisters and bad pay and shrugged. “I’m just… I couldn’t make it.”

Charles gave a careful nod. Over his shoulder, Dr MacTaggert simply raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Erik – he was already starting to get the feeling that she was a no-nonsense kind of person, and he dreaded the day he would encounter her in one of her worse moods.

“So why are you keeping us out here in the cold and the wet then?” she asked, not unkindly, but with an edge of impatience to her voice. “You see, Charles’ condition makes him more prone to colds than other people, and if at all possible, we should really move this conversation inside.”

Erik felt the blood migrate into his cheeks. Hastily, he nodded and shot a glance at the library entrance behind himself. “We could-”

Charles shook his head and cleared his throat. “Too much telepathic static, I’m afraid. Other people learning always gives me a headache.” He gave Erik the sweetest guilty smile anyone had probably ever given him. “Would you mind if I maybe invited you for a coffee? Or tea, if coffee isn’t your thing at all. Or, um. Any beverage, really.”

Erik knew he should say something, he really did. But the words just got stuck in his throat. Charles was looking beseechingly at him with those clear blue eyes, the ones Erik had cursed and gnawed his fingernails over because he just couldn’t get them _right_ with paper and pencil. By his side, Dr MacTaggert was grinning widely like she had just solved the riddle of the universe.

“Well, I see how it is,” she murmured, before she bent down to Charles’ ear and, raising her voice, said, “Alright, I think I’ll bend out on you for now. We’ll have a look at those forms another day, yes? Take care.” With that, she pulled her coat tighter around herself and started off into the direction of the main building, soon lost in the driving snow.

A snowflake had caught on the reddened tip of Charles’ nose, and Erik’s fingers itched to reach out and brush it away. The urge was so powerful he had to ball his hands into fists and stuff them deep into his coat pockets.

Charles didn’t seem to notice as he gave another smile, more strained this time. “So. Shall we take this to the café around the corner?” His tone grew playful, and he winked. “Who knows, maybe you’re interested in getting to know me beyond my looks.”

Finally, Erik found it in himself to nod and croak out a broken, “I’d love that.”

As they made their way through the dancing sheets of snow and onto the pavement, he glanced down at Charles’ delicate hand handling the joystick that kept his wheelchair moving. The fingerless gloves he was wearing were worn thin, patchy in places and with holes in others. Charles must be freezing beneath them.

The sudden desire to reach out and take Charles’ hands in his snatched Erik’s breath, followed closely by the thought that maybe knitting him new gloves instead would be a smarter move. One with long-term value, probably. One that would last for as long as they wanted it to.

Erik didn’t believe in love at first sight - it was a thing of fairy tales, designed for children and hopeless romantics. But maybe second would just do it for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and especially comments are very much welcome!


End file.
